


A Timeless Lullaby

by despommes



Series: Moonbringer [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-06-27 18:26:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19796536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/despommes/pseuds/despommes
Summary: After everything, they find each other again.Contains major plot and main scenario quest spoilers for the Shadowbringers 5.0 patch.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This revolves around my SMN Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te, Artemesia Andromeda. If you'd like to see a picture of her I have one [here](https://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com/post/186458132959/a-few-weeks-ago-i-commissioned-adpong-for-a) . 
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to see a picture of Artemesia I have one [here](https://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com/post/186458132959/a-few-weeks-ago-i-commissioned-adpong-for-a).

“I believe an apology is in order. To you, most especially.”

Familiar shame turns in the pit of his stomach. Shame for having lied to her, for making decisions for her. For wasting what precious little time he’d thought he had left hiding his face. His hands shake, his eyes glued to the ground as he wrings them. The pain of his wounds is nothing compared to the thought of her ire.

When he expects to hear a rebuke, she gives him a quiet laugh.

He looks up at her. The fractured rays of dawn sunlight, warm and golden, frame her silhouette like a glowing halo. It casts her ears, her hair, the lean line of her shoulders in beautiful shadow. Through everything shines the grin on her face. Her body shivers as she laughs, quiet and exhausted and still so, _so_ healing to hear. Her eyes glisten as she looks at him. They are bright and shining wet, and her voice breaks when she speaks.

“Good morning, G’raha Tia.”

His breath stutters.

The dam breaks. A tear falls, slips down his cheek. His lower lip quivers. The vision of her swims as his eyes flood, drop after drop spilling down his face. Over a century’s worth of sorrow he never before permitted himself to feel, tangled with the sheer, immense joy at the sound of her voice. Of his _name_. One hundred years without his own name and she delivers it to him like the most precious gift he has ever received.

She runs to him.

She is still grinning as she cradles his face in her hands. He leans his cheek into her palm. Her thumbs sweep away the tears as they come and, by the twelve, how long has it been since he was last _held_? He reaches the crystalline blue hand at his side to clutch at her fingers.

“‘Tis… ‘Tis good to be awake,” he weeps.

Her arms wind around his neck. He all but collapses into her. His face finds its way into the crook of her neck and he sobs. _I have missed you_ , he wants to tell her. He squeezes her tight, as tight as he can with the bullet in his back and the strength draining from his body. _Oh, gods, how I have missed you, my friend._ She holds him there, and he can tell by the feel of her lips at his temple that she is still smiling.

* * *

_There were many things he had come to regret, but none seemed to sting as harshly as the tears in her eyes. The pain had contorted her body, and as she writhed on the floor he was grateful to be the one to relieve her of it. Her hand reached out for him, trembling. How he wished he could take it._

_“G’raha Tia!”_

_His spell almost came to a halt. A beat that he skips, the shudder in his lungs. He was glad to hear it in her voice one last time._

_“Fare you well, my friend,” he murmured. “My inspiration.”_

_The shot rang out._

_Surprisingly enough, the pain was not the first thing that registered. It was the look on her face. Her eyes widened, round like dinner plates, the horror swelling in her pupils until the color had all but given way to black. He saw her mouth open to scream, could make out the shredded “No!” that ended in a haggard and gasping sob. But her voice sounded_ wrong _. Too bright, too brittle, too… brilliant._

_And then came the pain. He tried to draw in a breath and choked on it. His knees buckled underneath his own weight and he fell to the floor like a puppet with cut strings. His robes stuck to his skin as he goes down, wet and warm. He could smell it in the air. He could smell his own blood. The bullet embedded in his back bloomed into a supernova of agony, flaying his nerves all but raw. It actually incapacitated him. He could not move_

_She clawed her way toward him, dragging her body to his. The awful sight of her was enough to steal what little air he has left from his throat. She was ghostly pale. Thick, viscous rivulets of white leaked from her eyes, and the corners of her mouth. She was choking on it. She was dying._ They _were dying. She reached out for his scarlet-stained fingers and shrieked for him, but he could no longer hear her._

_As his vision began to fade from him, he realized he could see the color draining from her eyes, and then he knew nothing._

* * *

He arrives in the waking world with a gasp for air.

The nightmare, or the memory rather, has burned itself into his skull. G’raha Tia blinks, then rubs at his eyes to try and scrub it away. He takes a deep breath, then another to anchor himself to his surroundings. The sound of her screams still rings in his ears, but it is slowly starting to fade.

His hand reaches up for the cowl of his robes, but as his fingers grasp at thin air he realizes they are gone. His chest is swathed in soft gauze, and he wears naught but that and a thin pair of cotton breeches for his modesty. Instinctively he begins to panic, head whipping about for prying eyes. This is someone else’s bed, in someone else’s rooms. The open window on the opposite wall looks out onto the cliffs of Lakeland. He is in the Crystarium, in the Pendants. The landscape is bathed in a gentle orange light. Dusk.

He pulls the sheets from his legs, braces his feet on the floor to stand. He bites his lip. As he pitches himself forward an arc of pain steers itself from between his shoulder blades, through his chest, and straight to his heart. He cries out and scrabbles for a piece of furniture to lean on. A hand finds purchase on a wardrobe and, shakily, he steadies himself. It is anguish to move, but he must. He must see this sunset for himself. He must know that it is real.

One arduous step after another, he sees himself to the window. Every shuffle of his feet wrings a bitten off whimper from him but he manages it. The sky outside is magnificent. Devoid of the sickly white glare of the Flood, it is a kaleidoscope of saturated pinks, golds, and purples. The colors settle in and out of each other so that he cannot tell where one ends and another begins. Gulls dance over the water. The breeze blows in from the shore and sweeps through his hair.

 _Thank the twelve,_ he thinks. _She has truly done it._

A noise at the door pulls him from his twilight reverie. His instincts are screaming at him to hide, to cover his face but his feet are too slow to respond. A key turns in the door and he means to make it behind the privacy screen at the foot of the bed. He makes it a step and a half before the door opens and there she is. His Warrior of Light, Warrior of Darkness, arms full of bandages and salves, an envelope perched between her lips. The little blue carbuncle comes scurrying in after her, nose twitching.

It takes her a moment to notice him. Not until she has locked the door behind her and unloaded her spoils atop the kitchen table do her eyes fall on him. She jumps at the sight of him, hand flying to her lips as if to catch the yelp of surprise before it escapes her. The envelope flutters to the ground. Carbuncle stands at alert beside her, fur rankled and tail straight in the air.

“You’re awake,” she declares. A smile begins to creep up on her, but it is quickly blanketed by a concerned scowl. “You should not be out of bed.”

“I…”

He stares at her. She looks _exhausted_. There are deep, dark circles threatening to swallow up her eyes. Her hair looks windswept, even pinned loosely to her scalp, and her feet are bare. Her tail flits anxiously behind her. The sight of her is enough to make him grin a little, doltishly, like some kind of idiot boy. He would feel embarrassed but it is eclipsed by how _happy_ he is to see her.

“I wanted to see the sunset,” he tells her. Her eyes soften. She comes closer to stand beside him at the window. Her hand touches his elbow.

“And what do you make of it?” she asks him.

He looks back out at the sky. “It is… breathtaking.”

They pass a few moments just like that, in the quiet of the oncoming night. When his legs begin to grow weak, he leans into her. She holds him steady. Eventually she turns to steer him back toward the bed.

“Come. I need to change your bandages.”

He lets her lead him back to the mattress. He watches as she putters about the room, tidying things away. As she opens drawers and cabinets, he makes a realization.

“These are your rooms.”

She fills a kettle with water, waves her hand. Steam begins to pour from the spout. “We couldn’t exactly take you to the infirmary. Not with all those prying eyes eager to welcome you home.”

“How long have I been asleep?” he asks.

“For the better part of a day.” The kettle whistles. She carefully pours the hot water into a large bowl. “We had barely made it out of Kholusia before you collapsed. This was the best option we had, in terms of privacy. The cot you keep in the Ocular was not exactly suitable for a sick bed and it is easier for me to tend to your wounds this way.”

When she returns to him, she very carefully places the bowl on a bedside table. Under her arm she carries a roll of soft bandages and a phial of green salve. She sits beside him. He turns to give her his back.

“How are you feeling?” she asks as she begins to unwind the gauze around his middle.

“I am sore,” he tells her. “But in good spirits.”

“I am happy to hear that.” The relief in her voice makes her sound breathless. “Y’shtola and I had quite a lot of trouble trying to pull that balle out from under your shoulder blade. Shattered bone is hard enough to navigate on its own, but when it’s crystallized…” Her hands still on his skin. If he didn’t know better, he would have said her fingers were trembling. “We were lucky it missed your heart.”

He swallows. The quiet way she says it makes him _ache_.

“I am sorry to have caused you worry,” he murmurs.

“No, no, no.” She gently squeezes his hand. “No apologies. You are here. You are alive.” He winces at that. “And you are going to make a full recovery. I will see to that. You may need a sling for a few weeks, but soon you’ll be right as rain.” She sighs through her nose as she pulls the last of the loose bandages away. “That said… this is going to be uncomfortable.”

She slowly begins to peel away the soiled gauze stuck to his wound. He squeezes his eyes shut against the sensation. When it is uncovered, she takes a towel, dampens it in the hot water and begins to dab at his skin. It stings. Once it is clean, he hears the cork pop on the phial of salve.

“I’m sorry, but this will be painful. I have to get this as far underneath your skin as I can.”

He has to choke back a scream.

Using her finger, she digs into the wound, smearing the salve into his flesh. It is excruciating. He can feel every millimeter, each jab of her fingertip like a fire-hot poker between his ribs. Carbuncle sidles up next to him, standing on its hind legs to gently place one dainty blue paw on his knee. She softly whispers to him, “I’m sorry, I know. I’m so sorry.” He takes one deep breath after another, trying to center himself on the sound of her voice. His tail thumps tensley on the bed

When she is finished, G’raha lets out a soft whine. Carbuncle nuzzles its face into his limp hand as his shoulder is once again toweled down and wrapped in fresh, clean gauze.

“Done,” she announces. He is breathing hard, like he has just finished running a race. She touches his shoulder again but this time her fingertips are cool with the gentle numbing of healing magic. The pain slowly begins to dull and he slumps forward with the relief of it. She gently coaxes him back against the pillows and under the sheets. As he watches her stand to dispose of the soiled bandages, his eyelids grow heavy. He feels as though he could sleep for another full day.

“Thank you." She smiles and gently touches his hand. The water in the bowl is now cloudy pink.

“Do you think you could eat something?”

He swallows, his mouth dry. The pain has left his stomach roiling. “I will try.”

She pads over to the small kitchen. He can hear the quiet clinking of dishes against the counter as his eyes slowly drift closed. They fly open again when she touches his cheek. She holds a bowl full of something steaming in front of him. He takes it, savoring the heat it soaks his hands in. She pulls a chair up to his bedside and sits. The first sip reveals it to be a clear vegetable soup, simply seasoned and delicious. It warms him from the inside. He manages a few more mouthfuls. She hands him a cup of cool water to slake his dry tongue.

“I have to say,” he says with a dry chuckle. “Your bedside manner has much improved since I was last at the mercy of your care.”

He watches her expression to gauge if she recalls the same memory he does. Of when he’d slipped in North Silvertear and gashed his thigh on an outcrop of crystal, not badly enough to cause serious damage but badly enough to bleed all over a fresh pair of pants. She’d been the only one there to tend to his hurts and had simply ripped the pant leg away, doused the wound in whiskey and slapped a dirty length of cloth around it. From the way the color rises to her cheeks, it would appear she remembers.

“I have learned much these past few years,” she says sheepishly. He smiles at her. “I am surprised, and mortified you remember that.” She picks up the bowl, blows at the steam before taking a sip.

“Recent… events have made a habit of bringing these things back to me.” Like the sound of her laugh, or the way she took her tea. She has changed much since he watched her disappear at the other side of the monstrous tower doors. Her hair was longer, her face not as open or soft as it had once been, and he realizes that before his slumber they had both been very, very young. But, as he watches her cross her legs underneath her in her chair, one knee bending up so she might rest her chin on it, he marvels at how some things have stayed the same.

“I figured it out for myself,” she says. He stares at her. “That it was you underneath that hood.”

He laughs nervously. “Oh? What was it that gave me away?”

“That day outside of Amity. Behind that boulder. It was the way you spoke about the adventures we would have. You know, before then I had always thought that I would recognize your voice if I were to ever hear it again. But it wasn’t until _that_ moment that you truly sounded like that idealistic little historian that used to pester me across Silvertear.”

He blushes. “In truth, I find it difficult to see any trace of him myself these days.”

The way her eyes soften at that makes it hard to breathe. “I can still see him,” she tells him tenderly. “He is here in front of me, right this very moment.”

“You kept quiet.”

“I thought you must have had a reason for hiding, and that you would tell me in time. And I wish I hadn’t kept quiet, all things said and done.” Her head tilts. “I wish I had ripped that cowl off your head, forced you to tell me the truth. Told you how much I have missed you.”

He wants to hide his face in shame again. It is painful to look at her. “Pray forgive me, my friend.” He knows that had she been told the truth of his plan, she would have sacrificed herself for him in a heartbeat. And he could not let her do that.

She shakes her head. “No more apologies. You are here, you are safe, and I am not about to let you slip away from me a third time.” She huffs a tearful laugh at that, and he can’t help but return it.

Outside, the sun sinks further and further beyond the horizon. Stars begin to peek in between the pinks as they darken into royal purple and deep blue. The oncoming night blankets her where she sits and, as the gold turns to silver in her moon-colored hair G’raha Tia has to wipe tears away from his eyes lest he be blinded. His breath feels like it shivers in his chest and he is overcome, completely undone by this woman before him. His inspiration. His heart.

They sit in easy silence for several minutes. It is comforting in a way he hasn’t known in lifetimes, to sit in a quiet room as night falls with a dear companion. He hears her sigh deeply, bone weary and world-worn.

“Have you been able to rest?” he asks.

She does not answer right away. “I stayed up most of the night to sit up with you.”

“You have been awake since the battle?” He blinks at her in disbelief. “And what of _your_ injuries? I know it as fact that you did not emerge unscathed.”

“A couple cracked ribs and some bruising.” She says it so nonchalantly it breaks his heart. “Nothing a tightly wrapped bandage and some time won’t heal.”

“Artemesia.”

That gets her attention. Her eyes meet his, and the guilty expression on her face chips at his shock. “I am all right, G’raha.”

He shifts himself in the bed, gritting his teeth against the way his bones grind under the hole in his back. It is a big enough bed belonging to her in the first place. Back nearly touching the wall behind him, he pulls back the sheets and blankets. There is more than enough room for the both of them. His eyes meet hers, ruby red locked with silvery blue and purple, until she concedes. She slides out of her chair to lie next to him, tugging the covers up around them until she is satisfied they will not be chilled. Carbuncle leaps up near the end of the bed, curling atop her feet and letting out a squeaky yawn.

This close, he can smell her soap. They face each other in the dark. He hears the rattling in her breathing, lungs contracting and expanding against damaged ribs, and he is thankful for the breath in her body. She had spoken about his having slipped from her before, but he had come so close to losing her for good. So he basks in her body heat, in the way she knocks her knees against his.

“If I did not know better,” he whispers, “I would have thought you did not much care for me when we first met all those years ago.”

That makes her laugh. It tastes sweet against his lips. “Admittedly, no, I did not. You were so… _persistent_. Following me everywhere I went, interfering with anything you could worm your way into. You asked so many damn questions, all the time, it used to drive me mad.”

He grins so wide he fears his face may crack in two. “I suppose I wore you down in the end.”

She makes a non-committal noise. “You may have grown on me.”

She scoots closer to him, so that their foreheads touch. Her hand finds his in the dark. She interlocks their fingers. Initially he had expected her to hesitate at the cool, smooth crystal against her skin but it did not seem to phase her. She brings it to her lips and keeps him there, breath fanning out over his knuckles. He watches her eyelids flutter closed, continues watching until he can hear it in her breathing that she is fast asleep. Tears burn behind his eyes, and he blinks them away as he makes to join her in dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/despommess).


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to see a picture of Artemesia I have one [here](https://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com/post/186458132959/a-few-weeks-ago-i-commissioned-adpong-for-a).

_“Why have you packed?”_

_The sudden question startled her so badly she jumped, dropping one of her bags in the process. Henry the chocobo cocked his head at her clumsiness. She turned to address the source of the question, ears tilted back against her skull._

_“G’raha Tia, are you_ trying _to frighten me to death?”_

_“You’re not leaving are you?” He was burdened with a number of rolls of parchment, all covered in patchy charcoal. “Where are you going?”_

That’s no business of yours _, she wanted to say but she managed to hold her tongue. He sounded agitated._

_“Ah, young master G’raha!” Rammbroes’ voice called to him. He waved to the young man and began to approach them. “There you are. I see you’ve returned with those rubbings from the Labyrinth walls.”_

_“Indeed I have, in addition to an entire moleskine’s worth of notes.” He turned to look pointedly at Artemesia again. “Where is she going?”_

_Rammbroes laughed good-naturedly. “Ah yes, you haven’t heard. We are taking a short sabbatical! In light of our success in clearing the Labyrinth of the Ancients, several members of the team proposed we reconvene in three or four days, just long enough to rest and replenish our spirits. This way we will be more than ready enough to find away into the Syrcus Tower when we return!”_

_She could tell his cheerful attitude was a means to deflect the resistance G’raha is sure to put up to the idea. It does not appear to work._

_“A.... a_ sabbatical _?” He gaped at Rammbroes. She hoped that the shock would stun him into silence, but it did not. “At this moment, just as we have gained access to the lower chamber? Have you any idea the work left to be done before we take the Syrcus Tower? How much research to conduct, artifacts to uncover, evidence to record? And now with our only means of eradicating any existing threats occupying said tower currently packing her things to leave us indefinitely, for twelve knows which corner of Eorzea! Honestly, the timing could not be more disadvantageous. And just_ where _is it you mean to desert us for?”_

_She glared at him. When that did not seem to deter his accusing stare she thought to finally open her mouth and give him a piece of her mind. Cid, however, must have heard the commotion from across the camp and chose that moment to step in. He placed a hand on her shoulder._

_“You are going to the Black Shroud, are you not, Artemesia?” he asked. She closed her mouth with an audible clack of her teeth. All she gave in response was a steely nod. “If I recall correctly you mentioned your father’s nameday was soon. I’m sure he’d appreciate a visit from you, even if only for a day or two.”_

_“And you need go all the way the Shroud to see him?” G’raha scoffed. “Does no one in your tribe possess a linkpearl?”_

_All the air seemed as though it had been sucked out of the camp at once. Cid squeezed her shoulder. She couldn’t tell if it was meant as a comforting gesture or if he was subconsciously preparing to rein her in. She took a step towards G’raha Tia. The look on her face was enough to compel him back and away from her._

_“Yes, many people in my tribe have linkpearls. Shame, however, that my father cannot use one, seeing as a childhood fever that nearly killed him took his_ hearing _. And besides the odd letter here and there I haven’t spoken to him in months. I am taking the next four days to visit my family and_ you _—” she jabbed a finger into his chest and he dropped his scrolls to the ground, “—will be lucky if I return!”_

_With that, she picked up her bag, took Henry’s lead and made for the tent she had claimed as her own. Behind her she could make out Cid’s exasperated “Really, boy?” followed by a simpering, miserable “I didn’t know…”_

_She spent the next few hours sulking. The afternoon whittled by, slowly melting into evening as the sun made its descent. At the dinner hour she emerged from her tent, and was immediately confronted by what appeared to be a very contrite historian. His head hung low as he approached her._

_“I realize that I may be the last person in camp that you wish to speak to at this moment, and rightfully so might I add.” G’raha Tia stared at his own hands, wringing them together more tightly with each word. “But common decency dictates I apologize to you. I am truly, sincerely sorry for the things I said to you earlier. I had no knowledge of your father’s condition, and regardless of that I should have kept quiet.”_

_“You make a habit of putting your foot in your mouth?”_

_It was mean, and she regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. He gave her a self-flagellating smile._

_“Yes, actually. As you’ll no doubt be shocked to discover. I get so… entangled in my work that I occasionally let it overshadow the thoughts and feelings of those around me. And for that I am sorry. In fact, to atone for my blunder I would like to offer my services as an escort. If you would have me, I would gladly accompany you through the Shroud to meet your family.”_

That _stunned her into speechlessness. She barely knew this boy. Since their first meeting barely over a month before he had pestered her, questioned her, and insulted her, and he was asking permission to accompany her to her tribe’s settlement?_

_“I… will think about it.”_

_She wanted to slap herself. The answer obviously should have been no, but her mouth seemed to have other ideas. She only managed a glimpse of the hopeful, relieved look on his face before she left him behind for her evening meal. Cid caught her eye as she poured herself a bowl of stew, grabbing a cold bread roll to accompany it. He gave her a knowing look._

_“What?”_

_“Oh nothing,” he sighed._

_“I cannot take him with me.”_

_“Artemesia.”_

_“Really, Cid. Even if I wanted to, and I do_ not _, it would not be a good idea.” The implications of bringing a strange man to her tribal home, and a Seeker at that, was enough to set her on edge. Keepers of the Moon were a secluded and matrilineal people, and while her family tended to keep more progressive values in holding up traditions she shuddered to think of introducing G’raha Tia to her cousins or her father. Or, twelve forbid, her_ grandmother _._

_“Please, child. It’s not as though you have to invite him to your father’s house for dinner. If the boy is truly as apologetic as he says he is then you can afford to give it some thought. Your tribe lives in South Shroud, no? Leave him in Quarrymill if it troubles you so.”_

_“You just don’t want to hear him whinging about it while I am away,” she said. Cid shrugged._

_“We all stand to gain something.” He smiled at her. She frowned at him. “Who knows?” he laughed. “Perhaps some time in the forest will help to clear his head. Instill a sense of peace in him.”_

_“Hmph.”_

_She silently finished her dinner. It gave her time to ruminate on the situation. Her feet steered her without her permission, and before she knew it she stood directly in front of G’raha Tia. He sat upon the ground, spoon in one hand and a book in the other._

_“You may accompany me on two conditions.” She held up as many fingers, staring him straight in the eye. “One: we will not be making any stops. Two: you will stay in a neighboring town. I can see to it that you are invited into the village for an evening meal, but you must be on your best behavior. Is that clear?”_

_He grinned at her. “Crystal.”_

_“... Right then.” She nodded. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning, at dawn. We can take the aetheryte to Gridania, and then it is about a day’s travel from there.” She turned to leave him, took a few steps, then stopped. Awkwardly, her head tilted back to face him and she mumbled out a quick “Goodnight.” He returned the sentiment as she hastily made her way back to her tent, not entirely knowing what she had gotten herself into._

* * *

This time when he awakens, it is to a gentle rapping at the door.

Morning sunlight trickles in from the still open window. He squints his eyes against it and rubs slowly at his temples. Birdsong lazily flutters up from the trees below. He is still stiff and battered, but he at least feels somewhat rested. His shoulder dully aches underneath the blanket of bandages but a margin of his strength had returned with the proximity of the tower.

Tucked quietly under his chin gently sleeps his Warrior of Darkness. She breathes shallowly against his neck. He watches the curve of her body rise and fall underneath the blanket, the way her eyelashes fan out over her cheekbones. She sleeps with a fist loosely curled against her lips. His chest tightens at the sight of her. Draped over their legs, Carbuncle lies sprawled out on its back. The little thing’s mouth hangs open and its tail gently twitches against his shin.

The knocking repeats itself and pulls him further out of his drowsy state of waking. Looking down at his hero he notices her hair has come undone during the night, and as much as he hates to wake her he gently sweeps a piece of it out of her face. Her eyelids flutter against his touch, but do not quite open. Her brows furrow a tiny bit.

“Artemesia,” he whispers to her. She replies to him with a tiny sigh, her nose wrinkling. She nestles her face further into the pillow. “Artemesia, wake up.”

“Mmm.” This time her eyes crack open fraction. They blink once, twice. Roam over his face. “Raha,” she murmurs and _oh_ , it pulls something loose in his chest to hear the endearment from her lips. His heart stalls. She smiles at him sleepily and rubs at her eyes. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Are you okay?”

“I am well enough, my friend,” he tells her. “Though... there seems to be someone knocking at your door.”

She looks at him strangely, as though her tired mind is having trouble following what he is saying. The knocking comes again and her eyes fly open with a shocked little “Oh!” She throws the covers off and leaps from the bed, jostling a disgruntled and squeaking Carbuncle in the process. He sits up and sees her pulling open drawers from her wardrobe. “That’s Lyna,” she says, and pulls the wrinkled shirt she’d slept in over head. G’raha has a fraction of a second to turn his head, a hand covering his eyes in embarrassment. He can feel the heat collecting in his face as he, a man hundreds of years old, blushes. He’d managed to look away in time not to see her in too far a state of undress, but he’d still caught a glimpse of the tightly wrapped brace around her ribs and the nasty, mottled bruises marring her back like a grotesque mural.

Now in a slightly more presentable tunic, she rushes over to the door and swings it wide, greeting her visitor with a bright “Good morning, Captain.”

“Good morning, my lady,” he hears Lyna say from the other side of the threshold. “I’ve just returned from the horitorium. Here are the herbs you requested. We had most of what you asked for, but what we lacked I had our botanists substitute to the best of their abilities. Chessamile also told me to bring you this.” There is some shuffling and he can hear her set something down at the table. Heavy and glass, like a bottle. “...How is he?” Lyna tentatively asks.

“Better, I think.”

“May I see him?”

Artemesia’s eyes flash to him where he lies. “I…”

“It is all right,” he calls out to her. He wished his voice did not sound so hoarse. He sits up and gently sets his feet on the floor. “I believe the time to hide has come and gone.”

She nods to him. “Please, come in.” As she moves away from the door Lyna steps into the room. She looks about at her surroundings and when her eyes fall on him he tries to give her a reassuring smile. She takes slow, measured steps. Like if she moves too quickly he will bolt away.

“Good morning, Lyna,” he says. This woman, whom he raised like his own, whom he once fed and clothed, whose tears he wiped away as a girl, is quiet as a mouse when she gazes upon his face for the first time. She comes closer and when she kneels on the floor in front of him he can see tears in her eyes. Her lip trembles. Carbuncle watches her from where it sits on the bed. He reaches for her hand. “Now, my dear, none of that.”

“Is that really you?” she asks.

He nods. “It is really me.”

Behind her, Artemesia has turned away. He supposes she does not want to trespass on this moment between them, but he is grateful she is there anyway. Lyna sniffs and wipes at her eyes. “Are you all right? Are you in pain, is there anything we can do?”

“I am mending, and you can rest assured I am well taken care of.” His eyes flicker behind her. “It is thanks to our friend here that I will soon be fully restored to you all again.”

“I know. I am glad.” She squeezes his fingers, then makes to stand. “I should tell you, the people of the Crystarium plan to put on the biggest feast this city has ever seen. Once you are well enough, of course.”

“I am eager to attend.”

“I…” She turns now to Artemesia, voice still a bit watery. “If there is anything, anything at all that you need, tell me directly. I will see that it gets to you posthaste.”

“He will need a sling. If the infirmary could fashion one for him that would be most helpful. And I will need more of that aloe salve that Yalana gave me yesterday, if you would be so kind.”

“Of course, my lady.” The door opens. Before she leaves the room, Lyna gives him a small smile goodbye. “I will be back soon.” And with that she leaves them.

“Is that the first time she has ever seen your face?”

“Yes,” he answers. “I suppose I will have to reaccustom myself to… being seen.”

She prepares a tea with the herbs Lyna had gifted her. “Would you like breakfast?”

His body does not require food or drink to sustain itself, not in the way it used to. He is fairly certain she is aware of this, at least to some degree, but he appreciates the fact that she asks. However, when he smells the bread being warmed on the stove his mouth begins to water. “Breakfast would be lovely.”

She begins to set the table, and he stands to hobble his way over. At once she is at his side, pulling his uninjured arm over her shoulder to support him. Walking is much easier than it had been the day before, but he still has to clench his jaw against the throb making its way down his spine. Breakfast is simple: warmed crusty bread with an apple confiture and the pungent herbal tea. He chokes on the first sip. It is unsettlingly bitter.

“I know it’s vile,” she chuckles, “but do try to drink as much as you’re able.”

He does try.

“Have you any plans for today?” he asks her.

“Not particularly.” She yawns. “I was going to check on the twins; Alisaie had twisted her ankle quite badly in the battle, and Alphinaud may have had a slight concussion. Nothing serious, but it will ease my mind to know they are resting. Although I am not entirely sure how I’m going to convince Alisaie to stay still long enough to heal the ankle.” She takes a sip of her own tea, a perfectly flavored mint with two sugars. He jealously gulps down more of the herbal concoction. “I don’t plan to be gone long, but…”

“You are a highly sought after woman these days.”

She gives him a tight smile.

After she leaves he washes. He does not draw a full bath, not wishing to further agitates his injuries, but makes do with a cloth, a basin of hot water, and a bar of simple soap. The clothes she’d laid out for him fit well enough. She is tall for a Mystel woman ( _Miqo'te_ , he has to remind himself), a fraction of an ilm taller than himself, and while they are a bit loose around the hips they are comfortable and soft. It is good to feel clean again. The ashes of a burning facsimile of the long lost Amourot had weighed more heavily on his skin than he’d realized.

The writing desk near the bed is covered in the small collection of books she has accumulated during her time on the First. Most of them are lengthy tomes about this star’s botanical life, encyclopedias full of native flora. He finds a small sketchbook with detailed illustrations of plant life, some of which he had never even seen before. There are a few books of alchemy that had been lightly thumbed through, even a recipe book. A weathered, leather-bound book he can only assume is her journal sits in the center. Oh, how he would love to read a firsthand account of all her favorite adventures, but the idea of invading her privacy in such an intimate way makes his stomach turn. He takes up a weighty book of Lakeland’s trees and settles against her pillows to occupy himself until she returns.

As time ticks by his eyelids grow heavy. He cannot be sure when it was exactly that he actually faded away in slumber, but when he next wakes it is later in the day. Stale afternoon sunlight lazily wafts through the window that he had not thought to close. He tries to sit up, but there is an arm slung over his hip that keeps him in place.

He has no way of knowing when it was she returned, but she is now far and fast asleep against his chest. Her ear is perched just over his heart. He wonders if it is difficult to hear underneath the ever growing crystal in his skin. He moves slowly as the thought of waking her for the second time that day might break his heart to pieces. G’raha wraps his arm around her, taking no small amount of joy in the way it fits snugly into the curve of her waist. He is careful to avoid her healing ribs. She huffs a breath and her ears flicker in her sleep. He spreads his fingers out over the flat of her back. He can feel the shallow divots of her spine under his palm, and he thinks back to the mangled rainbow of bruises on her skin, all yellow and purple and in some places deep, blood red.

His lips find their way into the silvery crown of her hair. Gently, tenderly, _lovingly_ , he means to hold her until she comes to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/despommess).


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to see a picture of Artemesia I have one [here](https://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com/post/186458132959/a-few-weeks-ago-i-commissioned-adpong-for-a).

_The Black Shroud was an intimidating place. Beneath the thick canopy of its ever growing trees the gloom lurked about them like a sentient being. The air was thick with elemental aether, cloying and almost sweet on the tongue. Whenever she returned to the wood it verged on overwhelming, fading back into second nature the longer she spent among the trees. That said, to a stranger like G’raha Tia, the forest could take its toll._

_He seemed nervous the moment they had departed from Gridania. His ears twitched with every noise that came from the tree line, head turning at break-neck speed toward each ghostly glimmer of light. He clutched the reins of his rented chocobo and kept close behind her. Artemesia thought back to Cid’s words about the wood_ clearing his head _or_ bringing him peace _. After what seemed like the hundredth time he fairly jumped out of his skin with a noise from the bush, she turned around._

_“Don’t worry,” she told him with a teasing smile. “I will protect you should any manner of beast rush out of the trees to gobble you up.”_

_He pouted. She tried very hard not to laugh. “Yes, I suppose it’s all very amusing. Unlike_ you _, I was not born into the perpetual gloom of this wooded nightmare.”_

_“I was born south of Wineport.” He gave her a confused look._

_“In La Noscea? But you said you said your family was here.”_

_“My father’s family. He fell in love with my mother, and she wanted to see the world. He followed her. They happened to be in Wineport when I turned up. When mama passed he brought us back here. I was… eleven, I think.”_

_“... Oh.” He grew quiet at the mention of her mother._

_“It’s all right,” she assured him. “It was a long time ago.”_

_“It’s just—” He trailed off and she braced herself for the inevitable questions that usually followed his distant intonation. “That goes against almost everything I have heard about the culture of Keepers. Shouldn’t you have gone to live with your mother’s clan? And what of your surname? ‘Andromeda’ is hardly a name I would associate with a Miqo’te clan, Seeker or Keeper.”_

_“I hardly knew my mother’s family. They didn’t approve of my father, so we didn’t see much of them. They claimed they had a right to me after she died, but my grandmother convinced them otherwise.”_ Convinced _was a rather broad interpretation but she did not feel inclined to elaborate. “As for my name, mama was… an unusual woman. She found it in an astronomy book.”_

_He blinked at her. “But—”_

_“Up ahead.” She gestured down the path. Through much of the forest it had been worn grass and well-trodden leaves but further down it turned into flat, brown earth. If she strained her eyes she could yet see the wooden walls of the familial compound. “I’ll be back in a moment.” She swung her leg over Henry’s flank, deftly landing on her feet. “Stay here.”_

_“What, alone?!”_

_“Henry will be here with you.” She patted the bird’s beak. G’raha’s objection faded from her ears as she approached the gate. She made it a decent ways up the path before she was hailed._

_“Ho there, cousin!”_

_There was the sound of rustling leaves and then a gentle_ thud _of landing, and then before her stood a Keeper woman, not much older than herself, with a bow strapped to her back and her hair hanging wildly in her face. Artemesia grinned._

_“Kuna.”_

_Kuna opened her arms wide and pulled her cousin in for a long, tight hug. She rocked them from foot to foot as she spoke. “Oh, how skinny you’ve grown! Practically naught but bones in my arms!” she cried. "Do those Scions of yours not feed you?” Artemesia rolled her eyes._

_“I assure you, I am well-fed.”_

_“If you say so.” Her cousin released her, holding her out at arm’s length to get a good look at her. “‘Tis good to see you.”_

_“And to see you too.” She took Kuna’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “How is papa?”_

_“Tsimh’a is well. He misses you, but his herbs keep him busy.” She tilted her head. “You should come home more often.”_

_Artemesia’s ears flattened guiltily. “I know.”_

_“And your visitor?” She followed Kuna’s gaze where it had landed on G’raha Tia behind them. He fidgeted nervously on his bird, eyes darting from them to his surroundings. “When you sent word that you were being accompanied we were originally expecting that little Elezen boy who tags along with you._ Not _a Seeker.”_

_“He is… a colleague. A scholar from Baldesion. He offered to escort me through the wood.”_

_Her cousin looked at her, disbelief plain on her face. “Yes,_ he _is obviously escorting_ you. _”_

_“I had to bring him, or I would have never heard the end of it. And he’s not coming with me; he’ll be staying in Quarrymill until we leave.”_

_“He’s cute.” Kuna’s discerning eyes flickered between her and the increasingly anxious historian down the path. “Grandmother wants to meet him.”_

_“..._ What _?”_

_“She wants to meet him.” Kuna shrugged. “This is your own fault, you know. If you told anyone what you were up to these days she wouldn’t have to resort to questioning strange Seeker men to assure her of your safety.”_

_“I keep those things a secret to_ protect _all of you.”_

_“You should know better than to try keeping secrets from her.” Artemesia opened her mouth to speak but found herself at a loss for words. Kuna was right. Like always. “Go and fetch him, I’ll make sure he gets past the gate.”_

_Sighing, she jogged back down the path towards G’raha. Behind her Kuna shouted to the guard posted atop the wall. “Get your things and leave your bird with the guard. My grandmother wants to meet you.”_

_“W-what?” he stammered. “Why?”_

_“Your guess is as good as mine.”_

_The sudden fear in him was palpable as he slid from his chocobo to follow her. Henry fidgeted beside her at the sound of the gates opening, a joyful little trill building in his throat. She gently patted him as they walked through. She did not miss the little grin Kuna threw to G’raha as they passed by, wiggling her fingers at him in a cheeky wave. He ran to catch up with her._

_The sight that greeted her at the other side of the heavy wooden gate warmed her heart. Her whole family awaited her, aunts and cousins and childhood friends all clambering to see her. They crowded around the entrance to the village to greet her, and at the front stood her father, craning his neck to see. He was bouncing from foot to foot, hands wringing at the front of his shirt. When his eyes fell on her she saw him light up. Artemesia dropped Henry’s lead and left G’raha behind, running into her father’s waiting arms._

_“Papa,” she said, breathless as he squeezed her tight. One of his hands touched her cheek and she pulled back to look at him. There were tears in his eyes as they roamed her face. His other hand gestured to her, his fingers shaking._

I love you _, he said._ I have missed you.

_“I missed you too,” she told him, her hands moving as her mouth said the words. He pulled her close again, planting kisses on her cheeks, her forehead, all through her hair. She closed her eyes and let herself be doted upon, basking in the warmth of his affections._

_The rest of her family descended upon them, all three of her aunts and then the horde of her cousins. Hands and arms snaked around her shoulders for hugs and kisses rained upon her face in abundance, each one accompanied with a heartfelt “Welcome home!” and “We missed you!” She laughed as her eyes grew watery, face cracked wide in an uncontainable smile. A couple of her smaller cousins crowded at her legs, latching on and chanting “Artemesia! Artemesia!” until she reached down and ruffled their ears. They erupted into giggles and darted away from her, shrieking as they went._

_As the crowd began to thin out, she could see G’raha Tia still standing awkwardly near the gate with his bag clutched to his chest. A few people had begun to take notice of him, notably a number of young girls. They whispered to each other behind their hands as they openly stared at him. His face was beginning to grow pink._

_“Artemesia, who is this?” one of her cousins asked salaciously._

_“Is he a friend of yours?” another piped up, followed by a litany of “What’s his name?” and “He’s cute!”_

_“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. She pulled back so her father could see her hands. “This is my friend, G’raha Tia.”_

_“Tia!” one of the girls shrieked and they erupted into a chorus of giggles. His eyes went wide and his knuckles were turning white against the canvas of his bag. Artemesia waved him over and he made a beeline through the crowd to stand at her side._

_“He is a scholar from Baldesion. An Allagan historian. We’ve been working together near Lake Silvertear investigating the Crystal Towers.” She took her father’s hand in hers. “G’raha, this is my father, Tsimh’a Lharih. He cannot hear you, but he can read your lips a little. And I can translate.”_

_“H-hello, sir,” G’raha stammered. He held out his hand. “It is an honor to meet the father of the Warrior of Light.”_

_Tsimh’a granted him a shy smile before taking his hand and giving it a gentle shake. “Hello, G’raha Tia,” he said slowly. His voice was hoarse and he barely spoke above a whisper. His eyes looked to Artemesia and she nodded proudly. After they let go he signed to her._ Be polite. Invite him for tea. _She raised her eyebrows._

_“Um, papa wants to know if you would like some tea.”_

_G’raha’s ears twitched in the direction of the still tittering gaggle of girls behind them. “Yes, I think I would like that very much.”_

_Tihtah, her father’s oldest sister, waved a hand at them. “Girls! Disperse!” she shouted, and they all scurried off in different directions. Artemesia did her best not laugh._

_“Sorry about that,” she told him. “Strange men are not usually allowed past the gates.” G’raha did not reply, simply cleared his throat and followed close behind them._

_Her father’s house had hardly changed at all since she last saw it. It was small, yet warm and clean. There were more plants than she remembered, but other than that it was the same home she left behind little over a year before. The air was filled with the medicinal aroma of dried herbs and mineral water. His workbench, which she remembered had always been kept neat and tidy, was covered in tiny bottles and tools and she realized he must have been in the middle of working when he left to see her._

_Tsimh’a motioned for them to sit at the low table in the middle of the room and then left them to make tea. G’raha’s eyes looked about the room at all the different herbs, dried and fresh, hanging from the walls. His tail curled nervously on the floor. “Papa is an apothecary,” she told him. “He makes medicines for the village. Some people even come all the way from Gridania to place orders with him.”_

_“He must be quite skilled.”_

_“He trained for a while at the Botanist’s guild, before he met my mother.”_

_Her father returned with a pot of steaming hot tea and cups. There was sugar and milk on the table as well. Trade must have been very good at the moment._

Your grandmother will be here soon _, he told her._ Meeting with the trapper’s league in Camp Tranquil. _Tsimh’a poured them tea, and when she took her first sip she could feel the wear from the road melting away from her._

_“Oh! I nearly forgot.” G’raha opened his bag and started rummaging through it. He pulled out books, quill pens, and parchment before he found what he was looking for and slid it across the table to them. It was an Allagan talisman, she realized, from the tower. Along a fine chain of gold hung a simple, round blue stone. “Artemesia mentioned your nameday was tomorrow. I thought to bring a gift, to thank you for your hospitality.”_

For you _, she told her father. Truthfully she was stunned. She hadn’t expected G’raha to even remember her father’s nameday, let alone bring him a gift._

_“‘Tis only a bauble, worn by some of the minor Allagan nobility in the Fourth Umbral Era. I found many in a few of the lower chambers.” He laughed anxiously, rubbing at the back of his neck. “If anything, it should fetch a decent price at market.”_

_Her father signed to her. “It’s a wonderful gift,” she said._

_Tsimh’a picked up the talisman. He studied it for a second. “Thank you, G’raha Tia,” he said softly._

_“You are most welcome.”_

_“And what gift does a girl bring to her father? Or do the manners of your guest overshadow your own?”_

_She looked to the door for the source of the voice. Her grandmother crossed the threshold, the lamplight flickering over her face, and smiled at her. Artemesia gasped and rose to hug her, welcoming the kiss at her temple._

_“I am sorry I am late, my girl,” her grandmother said. “I meant to be back earlier to welcome you home, but complications arose and…”_

_“It is of no matter. It is good to see you all the same.”_

_“Yes.” Her aged eyes betrayed the smile her lips could not quite muster. “It is. Come, let’s have a look at you.” She held Artemesia at length, and it was very hard to resist rolling her eyes. “You look tired, child. And much too skinny! We will cure you of that before you leave us.”_

_“G’raha,” Artemesia told him as the two of them sat at the table, the older woman placing a hand on her son’s shoulder, “this is my grandmother, and the head of our family, Tsimh Lharih.”_

_“And you are the Seeker historian.” Artemesia poured her grandmother some tea as she honed in on the suddenly tense young man before her. “Am I to assume you are the one responsible for robbing this family of my granddaughter these past several months?”_

_His jaw dropped and he gaped at her. “I—”_

_“She’s joking,” Artemesia assured him. She gave her grandmother a look._

_“Mostly.” Tsimh smiled, amused at her own jest. “We understand she is a very_ busy _young woman, despite how little she deigns to tell us.”_

_“Grandmother, please.”_

_“I’d greatly appreciate hearing about your Crystal Tower.”_

_That seemed to brighten G’raha right up. As he launched into a detailed and thorough description of their work, Artemesia rose to help her father prepare dinner. He was pulling cookware off of shelves when she touched his shoulder, asking for his attention._ I did bring you a gift _, she told him insistently. He grinned, smoothing a hand over her hair._

You are gift enough.

_It stilled her breath in her lungs. Her throat burned with the effort to hold back the encroaching tears. Her father patted her cheek and turned away from her, but she wanted to throw her arms around him again, to bury her face in his chest and just cry. She felt guilty for leaving him alone in this house, yes, but it was overshadowed by just how happy she was to finally see him again._

_Through her grandmother’s pointed questions and G’raha Tia’s shy stuttering of answers, she and her father prepared a simple meal of braised meat wrapped in crisp lettuce and a plain mushroom salad. Dinner was long, lasting far throughout the night. After the dishes had been cleared and more tea has been brewed, her cousin Sabi came to see her with her husband in tow. In her arms she carried her new baby, and Artemesia all but squealed at the sight of the little girl, named Ahtu. Sabi had been only halfway along the last time she saw her, and Artemesia had been distraught that she couldn’t see the child immediately after birth. Sabi placed the tiny, sleeping thing in her arms and she_ melted _._

_“She looks just like you,” Artemesia told her._

_Sabi scoffed. “That’s not what mother says. She tells me she has Ikoh’li’s nose and mouth and I’ll be damned if she doesn’t sound_ disappointed _about it.”_

_“Hmm, I don’t see it.” Artemesia offered the baby her finger and the little thing grasped at it in her sleep. Ahtu gave her a soft grunt as she held on. “Strong grip.”_

_“And stronger lungs.” Sabi sidled up to her cousin so that their shoulders touched. “Your friend seems nice.”_

_The word_ friend _sounded strange to her ears as applied to G’raha. Across the table, he had since grown quiet in the presence of so many of her family members. He listened attentively as they talked, but whether he was too bashful or simply too tired from the day’s travel to contribute she couldn’t tell. Perhaps a bit of both. She kissed the sleeping infant’s brow. “He is nice enough.”_

_After goodnights were said and they separated to their own homes, Artemesia helped her father prepare a pallet for G’raha Tia on the floor. At this point he was too exhausted to protest and insist he make his way to Quarrymill; she could tell by the eerie silence that befell him and thought to herself that she had never heard him this quiet. As she climbed the loft to her own bed, opposite from her father’s at the other end of the house, she burrowed beneath her quilts and breathed in deeply. The smell of her family, of her home filled her to the brim and her last thoughts before falling asleep were that of gratitude that she was able to share that with someone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/despommess).


	4. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to see a picture of Artemesia I have one [here](https://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com/post/186458132959/a-few-weeks-ago-i-commissioned-adpong-for-a).

When Lyna had said the biggest feast the Crystarium had ever seen she had not been exaggerating. Preparations were well on the way by the time he had recovered enough to be on his feet, and even then there was still much to do. There were lanterns to hang, vendor stalls to be put up, and an unprecedented amount of food to be made. Sick to death of wasting away in a bed, he had meant to make himself useful. The good people of the Crystarium, however, took one look at the sling in which his injured arm rested and told him he need not trouble himself so.

It is after Lyna suggests he take a walk in the gardens that he finds the Warrior of Darkness doubled over in her field clothes, her gloved hands plucking carrots from the ground. She had been given a small plot of her own in the Crystarium’s community garden, and while most of what she grows is donated to the restoration efforts she spends many a long hour toiling away amongst her plants. Her brow glistens with sweat, and when she reaches up to wipe it away she smiles at him.

“Better today?” she asks.

“A bit. Still very stiff, but manageable.”

“Good.” She sighs and pops the lid on her waterskin. He watches her throat as she takes a drink.

“Is there aught I can do to help you, my friend?” Her eyes dart to his arm. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly anxious. “In truth, I find it… rather difficult to stay idle.”

She chuckles. “Oh, I am aware.”

He would blush if she had not said it so fondly.

“Surely there is some small task I can take off your hands.”

“Well…” She leans down and lifts up her basket, filled to the brim with soil-covered purple carrots. “These could do with a rinse. Come with me to the spigot and we can do it together.”

The spigot stands at waist level for them both and underneath it sits a wide basin. Water drains from an opening in the bottom and back into the irrigation channels around the vegetable patch. They stand side by side as they wash carrots. It is slow going, working with only one hand, but the water running through his fingers is cool and it feels good to busy himself for the moment.

“These are divine.” She looks one over, admiring the deep color. “Not as sweet was the ones on the Source, but deeper in flavor. Earthier.”

“How would you prepare them?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“I suppose… I would roast them, in oil. Salt and pepper. Then I would dress them in honey and balsamic vinegar.”

“Lyna always insisted on having them raw.”

That makes her smile. “Did she?”

“She hated cooked vegetables. Said they were too mushy, like eating mud. I wonder if she still does.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just your cooking?”

He gapes at her, appalled. She giggles. “I certainly did not hear you complaining the morning after you finished that entire basket of sandwiches on your own.”

“Well, they were a bit heavy on the mustard,” she teases. G’raha leans in front of her as though to pick up another carrot but at the last second swipes his hand through the spigot’s stream, splashing her front with the cold water. She gasps and jumps back, jaw hanging in shock.

“Oh, dear!” he cries. “I do apologize, Champion of Hydaelyn. It looks as though in my clumsiness I have soaked the front of your bibs.”

“Oh, you will pay dearly for that, G’raha Tia. Once that sling comes off you will know the full brunt of my ire.”

He sticks out his tongue. She does it back, and he is very suddenly reminded of a much younger, far more carefree Warrior of Light. Her eyes had been softer and her smile more freely given, as though she had not yet come to fully understand the weight which had already been placed on her shoulders. He is suddenly struck with heavy nostalgia, both for the lighthearted girl he had known before and the naive, smitten boy he had once been.

“I fear you’ve gone off and left me behind, friend.”

Her gentle voice brings him back to the present day. He locks eyes with her and she gives him a fond, knowing look. “I apologize,” he tells her shyly. “I… had just remembered something.”

“Speaking of which,” she says, “I have been meaning to ask you. You were able to scry my adventures through the glass in the Ocular, yes?”

“That’s correct.”

“Tell me.” She turns to face him, leaning her hip against the basin as she continues to rinse her carrots. “Which parts were your favorites?”

Oh, he has a great many answers for that. His heart races as he thinks of what he should tell her. How many nights had he stood in front of that portal, peering in at her journey all the while desperately longing to have been at her side again? The death-defying feats, the incredible displays of power, the hard-fought battles he’d seen at the hands of this impossible woman. And she asks him to pick his favorites?

“I…” he stammers, mouth suddenly dry. She does not rush him. He licks at his lips and stares out at the wide expanse of Lakeland, trying to gather his thoughts. “I was particularly fond of your battle against Bismarck, the great flying whale in the Sea of Clouds. It was truly something to behold; the sky whirling around you like a storm as you jumped atop the beast’s back and brought it down with one final blow.”

She sighs. “Would you believe that when I was young I was terrified of heights?”

“A fear I assume you have since overcome?”

“... For the most part.” She grins at him. “What others? What else did you see?”

“I saw your battles with the Four Lords of Doman legend, mighty warriors taking the forms of noble beasts. I saw you take flight on the back of a great, white dragon as you rode in the face of the great wyrm Niddhog and his raging horde. A once majestic, revered castle, flooded and toppled in order to restore the land to her people.” The memories bubble from his lips one after another. He would be embarrassed by his own eagerness if not for the way her eyes watch him as he regales her of her own life. Long has he waited for the day he could finally share this with her.

“I watched the snow fall in a great, stone city as a brave and noble night bent his knee to ask for your hand.”

Her hands still under the running water.

G’raha Tia’s words wither on his tongue. _Idiot_. He wishes he could pluck them out of the air, take them back before they ever had a chance to hurt her. And he knows they have hurt her. He can tell by the sad, dejected smile on her face and the way she casts her eyes down and away from him.

“Well,” she sighs, “that ended in quite the disaster, didn’t it?”

She breathes a self-deprecating laugh at her own expense, but the last thing he feels is any semblance of mirth. He’d read about how her engagement with Aymeric de Borel had ended in the face of resistance from the Ishgardian House of Lords. But he hadn’t seen that. He’d only seen the way she’d beamed that night, how she’d wept with joy and the snowflakes had caught on her damp eyelashes like so many small crystals. Finally, he had thought, finally she would receive a sliver of the happiness she deserved, of the world that was owed her for all her sacrifice. Finally she would be allowed to _have_ something.

_You make a habit of putting your foot in your mouth?_

“I am sorry,” he tells her. “Oh, my friend, I am sorry, I should _not_ have brought that up.”

“It is all right, G’raha.”

“I have clearly hurt you.” He takes a step back, means to leave her lest his foolish mouth cause her more pain than it already has. “I apologize, I’ll—”

Her fingers encircle his wrist. They are wet, and ice cold. She fixes him with her sad, shining eyes.

“If I feel hurt it is because I deserve it,” she says. “For breaking that man’s heart, and my own.” Her thumb gently rubs at his knuckles. “Besides, that was a long time ago. Someday, he may yet thank me for it.”

 _Someday,_ he wants to say _, you will thank yourself_.

She had loved him. He knew that. And perhaps she still did, in some fashion. A few fat tears breach the brave face she put on for him. As they glide down her cheeks, he aches to catch them with the side of his thumb and wipe them away.

“You deserve to be happy.”

She dabs at her face with her dirty sleeve. “I am happy. Despite everything, I have much to be grateful for.”

He admires her for that.

They rinse the last of her carrots free of mud. Once they have been adequately dried and tucked away in a clean basket, she cracks one in half and holds one piece out to him.

“How long has it been since you had one of these, freshly picked from the garden?”

“I don’t know that I ever have.” He takes it from her, and when she bites into her half he follows suit. He would agree in that it is not nearly as sweet as carrots from the Source, but fresh from the ground the flavor is so much more intense. It tastes of the earth in which it was grown, with a healthy bite that creeps up on his tongue. Almost like a radish.

“Well?” she inquires, eager.

He gives her an approving smile. “Delicious. Though I am curious to know what they taste like prepared in the way you earlier described.”

“If that is your way of asking me to cook them for you, then I shall happily oblige.” They begin to make their way out of the gardens. Artemesia links her arm in his as they walk and he sorely wishes he could control the flush creeping up his throat. “Perhaps we can even convince Lyna to give them a try.”

He knows they make quite a sight traipsing through the markets as they are, shoulder to shoulder and spotted with wet soil. They garner many a glance from lookers on, the Crystal Exarch and the Warrior of Darkness arm in arm and laughing like children. Where he once would have shrunken away and hidden, he now cannot even bring himself to feel bashful. He is happy, and he would have the world know.

* * *

_She could not quite remember the last time she had seen such clutter._

_G’raha Tia’s tent, while warm and relatively clean, looked like a war zone if there were ever to be a war waged between books and scrolls and dried inkwells. Stacks upon_ stacks _of tomes, open and closed, littered the ground at their feet. There was a bare patch of the floor encircled with splayed texts that she assumed he did most of his reading in. A cot with a tatty blanket sat against the wall of the tent. Sheets of parchment both fresh and scribbled upon were strewn over every available surface. Much of the writing was barely even legible. There were burned out stubs of candles in their holders, surely a fire hazard if she had ever seen one._

 _“You_ work _like this?” she breathed incredulously, her eyes still drinking in the sight before her. Everywhere she looked there was more mess._

_He huffed. “I happen to know where everything is, thank you very much. It is every bit an organized chaos.”_

_“Yes. Chaos.” She had to be careful where she placed her feet, lest she toppled something over in this mad labyrinth of research._

_Since they had returned from the Black Shroud it had been a race to find a way into the Syrcus Tower. They’d spent days scouring over historical texts often from sun-up to sundown. When he had suggested they make use of the tomes in his tent she had joined him, and was beginning to regret it._

_“What are you doing?” he asked when she began to move a great stack of books._

_“I am going to need a place to sit, G’raha.”_

_“There is space enough for you without rearranging all of my work.”_

_“I assure you, there is not.”_

_“Well, will you at least return things the way you found them when we have finished?”_

_She blinked at him. “Sure.”_

_By some miracle, she managed to unearth a fresh candle and lit it with a snap of her fingers. G’raha settled himself on the floor for another long, sleepless night, and Artemesia sat behind him so they were back to back, leaning against each other. This was the new normal for them in recent days; bags under their eyes and ears drooping in exhaustion as they buried their noses in books._

_They spent several hours like that. G’raha handed her tome after tome, dictating page numbers and passages for her to take notes on. Her handwriting, while not very pretty in itself, was at least more legible than his. Some form of hasty Sharlayan shorthand she was sure. The night stretched on into the early hours of the morning and still they continued, naught but the sound of turning pages and scratching quills filling the air._

_Though she was the nocturnal one out of the two of them, she was not immune to fatigue. At some point she must have closed her eyes. Her head lolled back to rest against the crook of his neck, her mouth gently falling open as she drifted. She was not fully asleep but not totally conscious either, caught in some sort of sleep-laden limbo. If G’raha noticed he made no mention of it, either too engrossed to feel her resting against him or simply content to let her doze as he worked._

_She couldn’t tell how long she stayed like that. Minutes, or maybe even hours. An owl’s errant hoot outside finally jolted her awake, her ears flickering as she gasped. Her cheek rested against G’raha’s shoulder. The exhaustion was still deeply rooted behind her eyes but at least it was easier to keep them open. She sighed, thankful she had somehow managed to avoid drooling all over the sleeve of his shirt._

_There was a gentle humming at her back that was threatening to lull her fully back into sleep. It was soothing and peaceful, leeching into her tired bones like a full body lullaby. She could feel it deep in her chest like this, subtle vibrations softly buzzing in her ears._

_Her eyes opened._

_“G’raha?” she asked._

_His only answer was a croaky and disinterested “Hmm?”_

_“Are you purring?”_

_He was quiet for a moment. The humming, which she now realized had been coming from_ him _, suddenly stopped. “... Yes?”_

_“You can purr?”_

_“... Yes. Can you not?”_

_“_ No _.” She was genuinely shocked. “Can all Seekers purr?”_

_“Well, theoretically, yes.” He sighed, and she could hear the shuffle of parchment. “Though it’s usually only around friends and family, when we feel particularly relaxed or safe. Supposedly it’s some form of… self-soothing mechanism, I believe.”_

_“I had no idea.” She was not close to many Seekers. It had never occurred to her. Keepers of the Moon could growl, spit, and on very rare occasions when threatened or frightened they could roar. She herself had been on the receiving end of one or two outbursts as a very young girl but not once, not ever had she heard anyone in her family purr. Not her mother, not her father, and definitely not herself._

_“I can stop if it bothers you.”_

_“No, no,” she said. “It doesn’t bother me.” In fact, she grew to find that she quite missed it. The quiet, gentle rhythm had been oddly calming to her tired ears. “Please do it again.”_

_After a few self-conscious moments of silence, the purring returned. Her eyes fluttered closed at the sounds of it. She could feel it reverberate through his chest, past her ribs and echoing through her heart._ I am his friend _, she thought drowsily._ I make him feel safe _._

 _“Y’shtola is my friend,” she muttered, her voice hoarse with sleep. “I’ve never heard_ her _purr.”_

_“Everybody is different. Perhaps she is not prone to it.”_

_“Mmm.”_

_She would have properly replied had she not already fallen fast asleep against his shoulder._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/despommess).


	5. Part V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to see a picture of Artemesia I have one [here](https://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com/post/186458132959/a-few-weeks-ago-i-commissioned-adpong-for-a).

On the night of the feast, the air is balmy and thick with the aroma of cooking. It cloys at the back of his throat like over whipped cream. The markets are more crowded than he thinks he has ever seen. Food stalls line the walkways and vendors beckon passers by in to taste their wares. His ears swivel back and forth, chasing the sounds of sizzling pans and lively people. Above them, the domed glass ceilings of the crystarium were illuminated by dozens of gently bobbing paper lanterns. They were enchanting against the inky black of the night sky. As he makes his way through the throng, it is hard to think mere weeks before they had all but been at war, facing an ever encroaching extinction. He is thankful for the chance to finally see his people celebrate.

So engrossed is he in the revelry surrounding them that he almost doesn’t hear Lyna speaking to him as she walks by his side.

“... what to try first?”

G’raha blinks, turning his head. The Captain, dressed in plain clothes for once, waits for an answer.

“Perhaps a walk through the thoroughfare before we decide. To see what is on offer.” Looking out over the plethora before them he has no idea how they will choose, but if he were to let Lyna have her pick (and he will) they will likely land upon something soft and dusted with sugar.

The crowd thins as they approach the last stall in the row. Out on the grassy lawn near the pendants, a small group of children has gathered and he can see the swirling blue tail of a familiar carbuncle darting between them. They squeal with laughter as the little creature bounds from one to the other, their fingers reaching out to touch it’s shimmering fur.

Lyna stands in line for a pastry vendor, coin purse clutched in her hand as she peruses their selection. “I’ll be but a moment,” he tells her, and makes for the spectacle among the grass.

“What kind do you want?” she calls after him.

“Whichever one you pick for yourself!” he says over his shoulder, knowing full well it will probably have rolanberries in it.

At the center of the gathered children kneels their Warrior of Darkness, with a similarly reclined Alphinaud at her side. His own moonstone carbuncle lounges regally nearby, basking in the gentle pets bestowed upon him by a number of awe-struck little hands. Artemesia’s blue familiar sees G’raha approach and makes a beeline for him. It plasters itself to the side of his leg, and he has little choice but to reach down and pat its head.

“There you are.” Artemesia reaches out for his hand, the one not currently bound to a sling, and helps him to the ground. A quiet hush falls over the children as they stare at him. He smiles. “Have you abandoned poor Lyna?”

“I would hardly call it abandonment. I doubt anything short of a calamity could pry her from the dizzying array of sweets on display tonight.”

“We ourselves meant to walk through the markets,” Alphinaud tells him. “However our _companions_ ,” he mutters pointedly, eyes darting to the moonstone carbuncle blinking smugly at him, “felt inclined to stop.”

Artemesia chuckles. “They enjoy the attention. Ah!”

A little Mystel girl holding a skewered treat had been reaching forward to scratch behind the emerald carbuncle’s ears. As she leant in, the tiny creature chose to use it as an opportunity to sniff at her food. It had been stretching its neck to take a hearty bite when Artemesia lunges for it, snatching it into her lap. Carbuncle gives a scorned squeak in her arms.

“Careful, now,” she tells the stunned kit. “They can be awfully clever when they choose to be.” The child giggles, eyes glued to the squirming carbuncle.

“Mister Exarch?”

His ears twitch at his title. An elven boy across from him squirms nervously where he sits. “Yes?” he answers him warmly.

“How long have you and Artemesia been friends?” the boy asks. A girl next to him, perhaps his sister, joins in.

“Do your mommies know each other?”

Suddenly, the three of them are bombarded with a litany of questions.

“Does it rain in your homeland?”

“When is your name day?”

“Is blue your favorite color? Is that why your arm is blue?”

“Alphinaud, why is your carbuncle so much bigger?”

“Are you going to get married?”

“Do you live in that tower?”

“Can I touch your tail?”

He does his best to answer each question as they come, keeping in mind that perhaps the tower and its secrets are just a little beyond a gaggle of small, inquisitive children. Yes, it rains in the Source just like it does in the First. His favorite color _is_ blue but that is not why his arm looks the way it does. He does indeed live in the crystal tower, however these days he does not spend as much time there. He would rather you didn’t touch his tail but it was very polite to ask first.

Having been raised with so many cousins, Artemesia weathers the eager queries of the children with graceful patience and a kind smile. She has an easy way with them that had taken him decades to nurture in himself, with no small help from a young Lyna. They flock to her, eyes wide and sparkling in amazement as she tells them about her life. He wonders if he had looked the same all those years ago, when they’d first met and he had been so taken by her strength and her light it left stars in his eyes.

When the time comes to say goodbye, the little ones scramble to hug her before they go. Several pairs of tiny arms wrap around his own neck in farewell, and both carbuncles are lavished with kisses to their plush fur. Artemesia helps him to his feet and they wave goodbye as they head back into the crowd.

“We were supposed to catch up with Alisaie and Ryne at the Wandering Staircase nearly half an hour ago, but…” She grins to herself.

“They are hard to say no to,” G’raha finishes for her.

“Terribly so.” She snakes an arm around Alphinaud’s shoulders, falling into stride beside him as they walk. The youngest Leveilleur twin blushes indignantly. “I promised Alphinaud I would buy him a freshly made lemonade. I hope you don’t mind?”

G’raha shakes his head. “Hardly.”

“I have the means to pay for my own beverages,” Alphinaud huffs. Artemesia pouts.

“Oh, Alphinaud, let me treat you this once.” She does not take no for an answer and Alphinaud’s protests go forgotten as they happen upon a woman selling chilled lemonade. Lyna finds them as they are standing in line. In each hand she carriers a small paper dish, containing a pillow of fried brioche dough covered in syrup-drenched rolanberries and icing sugar. As he had predicted.

“Thank you,” he tells her as she hands him one. It is delicious, soft and sweet yet undeniably rich. Nealy too rich. “I fear I should struggle to finish this on my own.”

“Well.” Artemesia leans over his shoulder and eyes the tempting dessert. “Since you twist my arm.” G’raha tears a piece with his flimsy wooden fork and holds it up in offering. Artemesia takes the proffered bite and chews, humming with satisfaction. Much of his treat disappears in a similar fashion on the way to The Wandering Staircase, victim to the Warrior of Darkness’s insatiable sweet tooth.

The rest of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn have long since claimed a table deep within the crowded tavern, some of them already imbibing. The table top is already littered with wine glasses and tankards and more are soon added to it as they sit. The air is raucous with music and boisterous laughter and not far into his first drink people gather to dance. The floor shudders under dozens of pairs of giddy feet.

He is not the only one to notice Ryne gazing longingly out at the crowd. Her fingers twist nervously around her mug of simple cider as her eyes dart from the wood grain of the table to the whirling bodies out on the floor.

“Ryne, did you want to dance?” Artemesia asks her.

“I…” The girl hesitates. “I do, but I’d be scared to dance on my own.”

She glances down the table to where Thancred and Urianger are locked in a heated debate, wherein Urianger lists off name after name and Thancred’s grimace grows more sour with each one. Y’shtola watches the exchange, silently smirking behind her wine glass. He can see Lyna at the bar talking with a pretty girl he recognizes from the Crystalline Mean. They are both blushing.

“I will dance with you!” Artemesia hops to her feet. “And so will Alphinaud!”

“Will I?” the young man interjects. She grabs his arm and hauls him out of his seat.

“Of course you will. Come on, then!”

She has to nearly drag Alphinaud to the floor, an eager Ryne following close behind them. He watches as they take each other’s hands and begin to dance, awkwardly at first but then quickly falling into a merry rhythm. They don’t know any of the dances the Crystarium natives seem to float through but it hardly seems to matter. Ryne giggles as she is twirled ad dipped and even as Alphinaud’s cheeks turn pink a stubborn smile quirks at his lips. Artemesia beams at the two of them.

He hears a snort from across the table.

The Leveilleur twins had been allowed one drink each to celebrate. Alisaie, ever the pragmatist, has ordered for herself an entire tankard of ale. Unable to participate in the dancing with her still healing ankle, she squints at him over her mug.

“What is it?” he asks her amicably.

“Oh,” she laughs. “I can just tell you’re used to hiding your face behind that cowl.”

G’raha rests his chin in his hand, partly to hide the crooked grin creeping at his mouth.

When the three of them return, giddy and breathless, more drinks arrive. The night stretches on into the early hours. Ryne sits slumped against Thancred’s side, fast asleep with his arm around her shoulders. The twins take turns yawning until Alphinaud insists they call it a night while they can still stand to walk.

A tap at G’raha’s shoulder turns his head. Artemesia holds her hand out to him and he takes it without a second thought. The two of them meander down the main thoroughfare, where vendors have started to pack up their stalls and many people, sober and not, yet linger. She leads him down the path and past the aetheryte plaza. It’s ghostly blue glow casts her in an otherworldly light.

“May I ask where it is you are taking me?”

She hums to herself, drumming her fingers against the back of his hand. “I want to see the stars.”

Once they reach the catwalk outside they sit down against the railing. G’raha tilts his head back to look at the sky above them. Hundreds of stars glitter over their heads, a great swathe of shattered diamonds over a deep and inky sea. The moon on this night is thin and slivered where it veers toward the horizon. The sight takes his breath away. His throat tightens and Artemesia’s fingers curl into his palm. His head spins through the heavens, and he is lost, falling into the colorless night until she grounds him and drags him back down to the earth. He breathes again.

“Is it as pretty as you remember it?”

She is breathless from the dancing and the drink, and he clings to her every word. She looks carved from the moon itself, the starlight all but crystalizing in the silvery waves of her hair. The dusky twilit hue of her skin glows here. He can see whole constellations in her eyes, caught beneath the fan of her lashes.

“Ever more beautiful with each passing moment.”

That makes her smile. G’raha Tia wants to reach out, to trace his thumb over the bow of her lips until he could read her expression like braille. He wonders what her mouth tastes like. Honeyed mead and rolanberries. Salt and sleep and sugar. Home.

He stops himself as he leans closer to her.

He could not do this. _Would_ not. How dare he want for anything else, after everything she has done for him? Hydaelyn’s daughter tumbles into this broken and choked world to deliver the night sky with her very own hands, and he would yet fall to his knees and beg again for one more miracle.

He would ask no more of her.

And so he is happy to sit with her as she drifts from one constellation to the next. Her hand nestles comfortably against his own. He will take what she offers him, and he will be grateful for every heartbeat of it. That, he thinks as he loses himself in the dual heavens of her eyes, is enough.

* * *

_“That’s the Bole.”_

_Artemesia handed him the bottle, fingers outstretched to the sky. G’raha took it from her and tilted his head back for a long, thirsty drink. They’d swiped the wine from camp. She was fairly sure it had belonged to Nero. It certainly tasted like something they were both far too young to appreciate._

_“That’s the tree, yes?”_

_“Mhmm.” She nodded and her skull rolled against the shimmering crystal underneath them._

_The moon’s reflection spread wide over Lake Silvertear. To one side loomed the crystalline skeleton of Midgardsormr and the Garlean dreadnaught forever suspended in its claws, all behind a shimmering purple curtain of corrupted aether. On the other side stood the gleaming spires of the Crystal Tower winding far into the sky. Artemesia gripped the neck of the bottle and suddenly felt very, very small._

_“I wish I knew the constellations.” G’raha scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I had always meant to learn them but… never took the time.”_

_“I could teach you.” Artemesia sat up. The world started to spin but for only a moment, and when it straightened itself out again she was leaning over him. “My mother showed me. She taught me when I was a girl.”_

_G’raha turned his head so she could see his eyes. Both now gleamed a bloody shade of Allagan red. They were frighteningly beautiful this close. That thought echoed in her ears. Her mouth felt dry._

_“You would teach me?” he asked her, and she nodded._

_“I have one of her books. I can show you tomorrow night.” She giggled, tapping her nails against the glass in her hand. “With far less of this.”_

_G’raha looked very sad. It weighed on her heart. She wished he would tell her what was wrong, why he looked like he might cry. It made her want to cry too, and with the drink warm in her blood like it was she very well might._

_Artemesia placed a hand on his chest and bent her head to kiss him._

_G’raha Tia’s lips were_ soft. _Softer than they had any right to be. He tasted like aether and stolen wine. Or maybe that was her. It did not matter. What mattered was the way his breath halted under her palm. When she pulled away his eyes fell heavy to her mouth. Artemesia tucked her bottom lip under long, feline teeth and wondered. What now? Had she just made a mistake? Did he hate her for that?_

_G’raha sat up on his elbow. He touched her cheek. His fingers smoothed through the short hairs at the nape of her neck and he cradled her face to kiss her back. She tilted her head and sighed a quiet, pleased moan. She could feel his thumb trembling as it glided over her cheekbone. When they parted she wanted to chase his lips for more, but he was smiling now. Artemesia smiled back, stupidly, drunkenly, and was content._

_She pillowed her head on his chest as he curled around her in their bed of crystal. His fingers carded slowly through her hair. She ran the pad of her index finger over the knob of his wrist._

_“Find me another constellation,” he beseeched her. His heart thundered under her ear._

_“The Ewer.” She pointed vaguely in the direction she thought was east. It was growing harder and harder to stare into the vast abyss of night. G’raha was quiet as she spoke, and she swore in that moment that, if he would let her, she would gift him every star in the sky._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/despommess).


	6. Part VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all for reading this work. I have truly appreciated all your feedback. It makes it really worthwhile to post these chapters.
> 
> If any of you are interested, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hy7blaYGJHk) is the song that inspired the title for this story. It's a piano cover of Zelda's Lullaby. 
> 
> If you'd like to see a picture of Artemesia I have one [here](https://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com/post/186458132959/a-few-weeks-ago-i-commissioned-adpong-for-a).

_The sky over Mor Dhona swirled in billowing clouds overhead as her boots pounded the stone underneath her. The air was near to weeping with the promise of oncoming rain, and it was like to be a storm. The ever present purple haze over Lake Silvertear pulsed with each flash of lightning, every clap of thunder that followed and shook the ground. It only added to the buzzing energy in her chest. Her hands shook with it, ears fluttering atop her skull in agitation as the aether around her crackled in anticipation. She was not sure what for. There was no plan to this. She was hurting and angry and lonely, and could not fathom what she was supposed to do now._

_The great stone doors of the Syrcus Tower loomed ever closer. They were intimidating against the luminescent blue of the crystal, the carvings having taken on a whole new meaning for her since…_

_She started to run._

_Carbuncle chirped behind her as it galloped to keep up, sensing the urgency in its mistress. Its little paws beat against the rock in time with her footsteps. It was as though they were trying to outrun the storm behind them, creeping closer with each second that passed._

_Everything came to a halt when she reached the doors._

_The thunder, her carbuncle’s squeaking, her own ragged breaths as they echoed in her ears. It all faded to white as she stared at the great, hulking doors G’raha Tia had disappeared behind less than a day before. She placed her hand on the stone, tracing the carvings there with a finger. She had thought it would hum with the same aetherical energy that brought the rest of the tower to life but nothing sang under her fingertips. Just cold, silent stone weathering her desperation with solemn indifference._

_“Raha,” she said softly. Nearly a whisper. Carbuncle’s ears stood up at the sound of her voice. “G’raha Tia, can you hear me?”_

_There was no response. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting; a reply from the other side of the door, some trickle of magic seeping through the cracks to reach her. For those doors to swing wide before her with her friend waiting contritely inside. Nothing of the sort happened. It was just her, the resonant chiming of the crystal, and the ever encroaching storm in the air._

_Her hand clenched into a fist._

_“G’raha Tia, open this door.”_

_She had no idea if he could even hear her. For all she knew he was deep within the tower and far from her reach. Slumbering away even then as she called his name._

_“Open the door, G’raha!”_

_Nothing. Silence. She was speaking to someone who was not there._

_Her fist pounded at the stone._

_“Please! Please, open the door, let me in!”_

_A drop of rain splashed her nose. Another followed, this time falling right into her eye. She squinted. Soon she was caught in a deluge. Water fell in sheets around her, soaking straight through the leather of her armor and down into her very bones. Her hair lay plastered over her face. It was growing hard to see as the stone carvings blurred through her vision._

_“Idiot!”_

_Another pummeling strike from her fist. Carbuncle circled at her ankles, frantic squeaks rising in volume._

_“You impulsive, stupid, rash,” each word punctuated with a blow, a kick, a tackle of her shoulder as she all but fought to beat down the door, “childish, cruel,_ idiot _boy!”_

 _With one more forceful, heavy-booted kick she felt something in her foot_ crack _. She yelped and stumbled back. A jammed toe, possibly a broken one if she were particularly unlucky. She doubled over with the pain._

_“Artemesia!”_

_Someone grabbed at her shoulder and whirled her around. Cid’s face swam into view, his eyes wide with concern._

_“What are you doing child?” he asked, yelling to be heard over the rain. She hung her head, unwilling to look him in the eye. His hands grasped at her wrists as though to keep her from beating her fingers bloody against the doors._

_“Leave me alone,” she warbled miserably, pulling weakly against his grip._

_“You shouldn’t be out here! You’ll catch your death!”_

_“Then let me!”_

_She wrenched her hands away from him. He let go fairly easily, if reluctantly. She wrapped her arms around herself. Like she was trying to keep her chest from splitting at the seams, all of the grief and raw anguish popping out like stuffing in a child’s toy. It_ hurt _to breathe like this. When her heart felt like an overripe cherry that could burst at any moment and her lungs quaked with sobs that bubbled up like soap. They burned bitterly in the back of her throat._

_Cid looked at her sadly, pitying her. She wanted to hate him for it. “I am sorry,” he said. She grit her teeth, shaking her head._

_“Why does this_ always _happen?” she cried. “Why is it whenever I_ dare _to ask for something of my own it’s always snatched away from me?! Am I not allowed to have anything? Can I have_ nothing _for myself?”_

 _Cid’s hands rested on her shoulders. They felt heavy, and she was weak. “Artemesia, don’t do this,” he told her. “Please. If you start thinking that way then the world will keep taking from you, and eventually you_ will _have nothing. Believe me. I know.”_

_She felt her face crumple, her lower lip wobbling even as she fought to keep it straight. A sob burbled out from her mouth. Her hand came up to shield her eyes as they wept, boiling tears mingling with the cold rain on her cheeks. Cid pulled her close. His arms crossed over her back and she finally broke. She cried into his chest, decorating his front with tears and snot and spittle._

_“Why didn’t he tell me?” she whimpered. “I didn’t get to say goodbye. He wouldn’t even give me that.”_

_“He didn’t tell you because you would have asked him to stay. And I doubt very much he would have found the strength to say no.”_

_“So now I’ll just never see him again.”_

_“You don’t know that.” Cid gingerly placed a hand atop her soaked hair, careful to avoid her ears. “Someday the world might have need of the Tower again. G’raha Tia will awaken then.”_

_“Someday, when I am long dead and gone. With who knows what waiting outside in the world for him. He’ll be alone.” And that thought was what hurt the most. She clamped a hand over her mouth, willing the broken sound back down inside of her._

_“I…”_

_Cid had no words for her. He simply held her until her shoulders were mostly done shaking and her breathing once again resembled something normal._

_Her foot ached. She cursed herself for her own stupidity. Carbuncle nosed at her ankle and she leant down to tenderly pet its head._

_“Shall we head back to Revenant’s Toll then?”_

_The rain showed no sign of letting up. She took Cid’s offered hand, wobbling on her uninjured leg._

_“Okay.”_

_She limped as they walked, leaning heavily on Cid. Eventually, probably tired of seeing her struggle beside him, he simply picked her up and cradled her in his arms. Her face burned, partly in humiliation and partly from the ache in her throat. Over his shoulder she could see the ever winding spires of the Syrcus Tower climbing through the storm clouds. She imagined her friend tucked deep inside of it, safe from the storm and far, far from her._

_Her small, fragile goodbye was swept away on the wind and the rain as soon as it left her lips._

* * *

He has dreaded this moment.

It was unrealistic to think she could remain in the First forever. He had known that. Still, the wistful melancholy of goodbye throttles his heart in his chest. She feels it too, he knows, but he smiles for her. He is grateful, more than he could ever hope to tell her, and the last thing he wants is to see her off with a pout on his face.

In the still blue light of the Ocular she looks every bit the hero he knows her to be. It is comforting to stand beside her. The gentle caress of her aether reaches him as it swirls over her skin, cedar and river water and camphor in his lungs. He basks in it while he still can.

“I will return as soon as I am able. A fortnight, at the most.”

“Stay as long as you need.” He takes her hand to help her up the stairs leading to the portal. She climbs them in slow, measured steps. “Your efforts here will hold this world stable. And believe me, you have more than earned your rest.”

“You will call for me, should anything happen?” she asks. He tilts his head at the concern in her eyes. “I know you still can. Promise me?”

“Nothing will happen,” he assures her. “But, if anything arises I promise I will call for you.”

“Thank you.”

She takes his hand in hers, cool crystal against her soft skin. She gently squeezes his fingers. He squeezes hers in return.

“Remember to see Chessamile about your shoulder. Twice a week. Lyna will tell me if you fail to go.”

“I will remember.” He smiles gently at her. “Give my regards to Tsimh’a.”

That brightens her eyes. “I will. He will be glad to hear from you.” She bites her lip, one brilliant fang peeking out over the soft flesh. It lifts his spirits, something so small but so endearing he cannot help but chuckle to see it. She blushes.

“Safe travels, Artemesia.”

“Oh, but I will miss you, G’raha.”

There is something guarded about her eyes when she tells him that. How he wishes she would tell him. Alas, he is an old man, long since run out on his wishes, and she has her whole life yet to live. All he allows himself is a tender touch to her wrist as he lets go of her hand.

“And I you, my friend.”

With that, she turns toward the portal.

Artemesia gives him one last smile in farewell before she walks forward, back into the Source. He would give anything to follow her. As she disappears into a gleaming mirror of fluid light his chest _aches._ He stares after her, watches the dark tip of her tail vanishing through that silvery mirror.

He sucks in a quiet gasp. His fingers clench around the grip of his staff when it sinks in that she is gone. He will wait for her to return, of course. There is much to be done, and he will not spend her time at home moping like some lovesick kit. He was far too old for that. There was an entire world left to rebuild.

There was a sound at the portal.

He lifts his eyes in time to see a slow, steady ripple on the illuminated glass. It emanated outwards, breaking on the border meeting the crystal. A hand appears, and then a foot, and Artemesia’s face breaks the surface. His eyes widen in shock, and suddenly she is before him again. She grins at him and a blush sits high on her cheekbones.

“Artemesia!” he stammers. “I—what’s happened? Has something gone awry with the spell?”

She laughs and shakes her head at him. “The spell worked perfectly. I…” She makes to descend the staircase. “I forgot something.”

When she reaches him her fingers ghost themselves over his cheeks, warm and fleeting, and she _kisses_ him.

He whimpers as her lips meet his. The staff falls forgotten to the floor with a woody _thwack_ as he drops it to hold her in his arms. She cradles his face as he pulls her close. He kisses her like he is drowning and she is a lifeline, thrown to him after decades of living without air. Her mouth is soft, softer than he remembers even, and her hair tickles his face. He pulls away, reluctant as he is, his heart stutters when she leans forward to follow him. Her eyes are half lidded and a little dazed as he touches his forehead to hers. Her breath fans out over his lips.

“It was all for you,” he tells her. He can hear her breath catch in her throat. The words tumble from his mouth and he cannot stop himself. “Everything. Bringing the Tower across worlds, the Crystarium, the beacon, all of it. The people of the First, all those lives lost in the Calamity, they all followed, of course, but…” He sighs, shaky and anxious as he tries to gather the words he’s wanted to tell her for as long as he can remember. Her thumb swipes over his cheekbone. He leans into it. “All of it was for _you_. You must know that.”

She lets out a sharp, breathy laugh laden with tears. They shine unbidden in her eyes, squinted as they are in a grin. “Raha,” she murmurs. “You brave, beautiful, _brilliant_ man.”

He finds her lips again. She sighs into his mouth and he realizes, to his own amazement, that she had made that sound the one and only other time he kissed her. Lifetimes ago, when he’d been drunk and fool enough to give himself away to her. He wants to hear it again and again, for as long as he lives. As long as there is breath in her body and heat on her skin. He dips his tongue into her mouth and she goes _soft_ against him. He tastes her in hesitant yet desperate sweeps and when she tastes him back he clutches her close and tries to anchor himself in this moment.

“I love you,” he tells her, and she sobs. “I have loved you for so long. And I am sorry for so much, but I am not sorry for whatever it is I have done that led you back to me.”

“I love you, Raha.”

Her face nestles into the crook of his neck and he tenderly lays a kiss in her hair, one on the velveteen of her ear. Her breath is humid against the glistening crystal of his skin. He pulls her away from him, two fingers gently tilting her chin up, kisses the tears from her cheeks as they fall. She giggles.

“I will… be back… as soon as… I can.”

His lips interrupt her again and again with lingering pecks to her mouth.

“I know,” he says.

She embraces him one last time and kisses his forehead. Her hand lingers at his jaw when she backs away. When she is gone through the portal again he climbs those stairs himself, extends his hand to caress the cool blue light.

_The glory of the heavens was ever beyond the grasp of those who never thought to reach for it. But if I have gained anything from all of this, it is the courage to stretch out my hand._

He will wait for her. A heartbeat, a fortnight, another hundred years if he has to. But he will be here waiting for her when she returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to be writing some smut after this sooooo be on the look out for that I guess!
> 
> Please leave a comment and tell me what you thought :)

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://isaidyoulookshitty.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/despommess).


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